


The Wayward Fog

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angry!John, Angst, Cheating, Comfort, Drama, Hurt, Infidelity, Marriage, Multi, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Pining Sherlock, Romance, Substance Abuse, doubts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 19:15:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things almost seem like Before. </p><p>Sherlock and John solve crimes.</p><p>Sherlock and John annoy Mycroft.</p><p>Sherlock and John go for dinner.</p><p>Sherlock and John joke around in Scotland Yard.</p><p>But then Sherlock watches as John marries and he knows that things will never be as Before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wayward Fog

**Author's Note:**

> I have never written before for the Sherlock fandom (eek!)
> 
> Very nervous about this. I hope you enjoy reading it!

Sherlock envisaged his return as a huge celebration where friends and family and loved ones crowded around him and asked him how he did it, how he tricked them all, how he saved their lives.

Then Sherlock would remember that he has hardly any friends and that his family knew that he was alive. 

Really, he imagined John. 

He spent hours picturing John’s reaction. He expected John to be angry. He anticipated a punch, maybe a head-butt. There would be cursing and shouting. Lots of that.

But then John would wrap his arms around him and cling tightly, demanding that Sherlock never leave him again. 

There would some tears (John’s) and then maybe, maybe Sherlock would finally be able to work up the courage to kiss him.

Sherlock pictured hundreds of different scenarios. 

In none of them was there a beautiful blonde woman sitting opposite John with the kind of smile that could light up a thousand rooms.

Sherlock swallows hard and forces himself to make his way over to their table. He would not back down, not now, not after all this time. He needed to reveal himself. He needed this. He approaches the table cautiously, noting that she really was the only person in the room to John. She notices him first, frowning only slightly as if she is trying to place him. John turns his head to see what it is that has stolen her attention and pales horribly. Sherlock stops a few steps away and allows himself a small smile.

“John.”

John shakes his head, standing up from his seat with unsteady feet.

“No. Nope. You’re…you’re dead.” He exclaims. “You’re dead. I-I saw you. I saw you jump.”

“It was a trick. Just a magic trick.”

And Sherlock doesn’t know if now is the right time to show John that he had hinted that day on the roof that he wasn’t really committing suicide. He wonders if he should come closer but now John is balling his hands into fists, his arms shaking as he shakes his head violently.

“You don’t get to do this. You. You just don’t, Sherlock.” He hisses.

“John.” Mary says soothingly. “Let’s go outside. Where you two can talk properly.”

Sherlock glances at her and sees that she is beautiful in an attainable away. She is the adult version of the girl next-door. She steps closer to John and flashes Sherlock a kind smile. John pushes past them both and marches out of the room and Sherlock’s heart stops when he sees the hint of a limp making John’s gait uneven. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have surprised him in public.” Sherlock mutters mostly to himself but Mary hears.

“Maybe not but then again, it’s safer with a crowd around you. Less chance of him pummelling you to the ground.” She says with a wry smile.

Sherlock doesn’t share her smile and turns to follow John. All eyes are on him as he stalks through the restaurant; the man who ruined their evening. He sees John leaning against the wall outside, his eyes closed and his chest heaving.

“John-”

“Sherlock, I can’t do this now.” John interrupts, his voice shaking.

“Because you are about to have one of your panic attacks. You need to breathe, John. You need-”

“I need you to piss off!” John yells furiously. 

Sherlock didn’t plan for this. He didn’t plan for John rejecting him.

“Sherlock, maybe you should go?” Mary says quietly, stepping in beside him and placing a soothing hand on his arm. “John needs some time.”

Sherlock nods numbly, never taking his eyes off John as Mary links arms with him and leads him to a taxi.

“It’s the shock.” She whispers. “He’ll be fine in a few days.”

Sherlock looks down at her and wishes he could hate her but she’s smiling at him in a promising kind of way with a look in her eyes that tells him that she can fix this.

“Tell him I’m sorry.”

“Tell him yourself.” She teases. “Give him a few days and he’ll come round.”

She pushes Sherlock towards the taxi and offers him a warm smile.

“If it’s any consolation, I’m delighted your back. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Sherlock doesn’t reply. He closes the taxi door and leans back into the familiar leather seats. 

“221B Baker Street.”

 

…

 

Mrs Hudson’s reaction is a little more heart-warming but it does nothing to soothe the chill that has burrowed its way deep inside his chest. He sits in the empty, dusty apartment and wonders if maybe John would be better off if he simply did cease to exist. 

 

…

 

“I really don’t know what you expected, Sherlock.” Mycroft smirks. “Of course he is going to be angry, you committed suicide before his very eyes and then kept the lie going for almost two years. It’s a rather large deceit to forgive.”

“I did it for him!” Sherlock snaps for what feels like the thousandth time.

“He doesn’t understand that. And he probably won’t. He’s not like you or I, Sherlock. You know that.”

That’s why Sherlock loves him. Because John is the human part of Sherlock. John is the part of him that makes him feel and love and do the right thing, even when it would be so much easier to do the wrong.

“Should I…call him?” Sherlock asks uncertainly.

Mycroft looks slightly bewildered.

“Why would you do that?”

“To beg for forgiveness.” Sherlock coughs, a blush staining his cheeks.

Mycroft shifts uncomfortably in his seat and frowns at Sherlock in almost disgusted manner.

“I could not possibly condone that kind of behaviour. Sherlock, I know-”

Sherlock raises a hand and Mycroft, miraculously, falls silent.

“Don’t.” Sherlock says quietly. “Don’t say it.”

“Be careful.” Mycroft sighs. “He’s not yours anymore.”

 

…

 

On the fifth day Sherlock’s phone finally buzzes.

Can I come over?   
JW.

Of course.  
SH.

 

…

 

“Oh, it’s so lovely to see you boys together again.” Mrs Hudson declares as she potters about Sherlock’s apartment making tea. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Neither did I.” John huffs humourlessly. 

Sherlock remains silent, his chin resting on his the tips of his fingers as he watches John watch him. He’s older, Sherlock decides. His sandy hair is now dulled by age as are his once vibrant blue eyes. There are more wrinkles on his face, especially around his mouth and he has lost weight. He holds his bad leg stiffly and Sherlock can see that the tremor has returned.

“Right, then. I’ll leave you two alone, shall I?” Mrs Hudson teases as she places down her tray of tea and shortbread biscuits, John’s favourite. 

John nods.

“That would be great, thanks.” 

Mrs Hudson titters to herself and totters out of the room, muttering something about true love defying all obstacles.

“She’s wrong, you know.” Sherlock sighs.

“Hmm?”

“Love can’t overcome everything.”

John raises an eyebrow.

“That’s true. Some things are too hard to forgive.” He agrees.

Sherlock makes a humming sound and looks over John’s shoulder.

“Even if those things were done with the very best of intentions?”

John snorts and smiles at Sherlock humourlessly. 

“Even then.”

Sherlock frowns and looks at John miserably.

“If you don’t want to forgive me, then why are you here?”

John takes a sip of his tea before answering.

“I want to forgive you but it’s not going to just happen overnight, Sherlock. You left me thinking that my very best friend had died. You never sent a letter or even a bloody text to tell me that you were okay. And then, I watched you walk up to me in restaurant and it was like losing you all over again. I need time to adjust to a life where you exist again. Can you give me time?”

Sherlock doesn’t want to give him time. He wants to demand that John stop being so ridiculous and move back in to Baker Street so that they can continue as they were Before. 

But he knows that he has lost the right to demand such things.

“Of course. Take as much as you need.” He says quietly.

John nods stiffly.

Neither of them speak again until John leaves.

“So. Mary was wondering if you wanted to come for dinner tomorrow night?” John asks as he pulls on his coat.

Sherlock nods at him blankly.

“If that is what you want.” He says carefully.

John swallows hard and nods at Sherlock jerkily.

“Yes, I want it very much.” He answers quietly.

Sherlock quirks his lips and looks at John hopefully.

“Then I shall be there.”

 

…

 

Sherlock wonders if his sudden thirst for morphine is because of John.

 

…

 

“Hello there, Sherlock! Come in, come in.” Mary calls warmly as Sherlock walks up the path to their redbrick house.

The garden is neat and well groomed. The house is immaculate and well kept. All the furniture matches, all the cutlery is from the same set. Even the wine glasses are all identical.

It’s dull and mundane and ordinary and Sherlock glances at John uncertainly, wondering how much one person could have possibly changed.

“I made steak and onion pie.” Mary announces as they all take their respective seats at the dinner table. 

John is opposite Sherlock and Mary sits between them and Sherlock cannot help but see her as the rift in their relationship.

“Mary is a fantastic cook.” John says with a smile and Sherlock misses that smile, so warm and bright.

Mary rolls her eyes and smiles at Sherlock.

“I’m not. I can make three things, lucky for me, John isn’t very fussy.”

Sherlock smiles and nods because he feels as if that is the appropriate thing to do. He feels as if his tongue has swollen. It sits heavy in his mouth and he is uncertain of how to proceed.

“Couldn’t be fussy living with Sherlock, could I? It was rare enough that things were in date, never mind tasted good.” John laughs.

His eyes are searching Sherlock’s, intense and staring and making Sherlock suddenly feel as if he cannot breathe.

“We were fine.” He says, his mouth impossibly dry. 

John smiles and looks at him fondly.

“We were.” He agrees.

They lapse into silence broken only by the compliments of how nice Mary’s pie is. Sherlock is entirely underwhelmed, deciding that the pie was mediocre at best. The meal ends and Sherlock feels wholly disconnected from the scene before him. John has his arm around the back of Mary’s chair as he leans forward and tells Sherlock the story of how they met. It is unspectacular as one would expect but Mary watches him as if he is regaling the most fascinating of tales.

“And I guess that is why I have asked her to marry me.” John finishes with a bright smile and Sherlock feels his entire world rips itself from beneath his feet. 

He schools his features to ones of interest and nods, a strained smile stretching his lips.

“You’re engaged? That’s marvellous!” He declares and even to his own ears it sounds horribly false.

John announcing his engagement was almost the same as being told he was terminally ill.

He can see the sadness in John’s eyes as he coughs and looks away. Mary looks between the two of them with an uncertain smile and girly giggle.

“What are you two like? Marriage isn’t a death sentence, Sherlock. Lucky for you I’m not possessive so you and John can still run about together like before!” She promises with a warm smile.

“I…I’m afraid I don’t solve things anymore.” Sherlock says quietly.

John coughs again and mutters something about needing the bathroom. Sherlock watches him go despondently, trying to hide his shaking hands beneath the table. Mary takes a large gulp of wine and looks at Sherlock helplessly.

“I don’t know what to do with you two.” She sighs.

“There’s nothing you can do. He needs time.”

They need time. 

John needs time to forgive and Sherlock needs time to forget.

 

…

 

He’s falling. 

He’s falling back into old habits and past ways and soon Sherlock can feel that familiar craving gnawing at him, telling him to have some, to taste some.

 

…

 

Sherlock hunts down Lestrade and demands his old job back.

Greg looks desperately uncomfortable as he refuses him.

“Things have changed, Sherlock. I can’t just… You can’t just walk onto a crime-scene anymore.”

Sherlock blinks at him in confusion.

“But you need me. You need me to solve the crimes that are beyond you.”

Sherlock doesn’t want to add that he needs Greg, that he needs the crime-scenes and the social interaction. 

He doesn’t want to add that he needs to get out of the damn flat.

“Maybe some other time; when things have died down a bit.” Lestrade promises.

Sherlock presses his lips together and nods, walking out of the office without another word. 

 

…

 

Bored.   
SH.

He waits all day for a reply that doesn’t come. 

 

…

 

“You need to prove your friendship once again. That he can trust you.” Mycroft explains.

Sherlock frowns and fiddles with his violin strings agitatedly. 

“John? Of course he knows that he can trust me. Why wouldn’t he trust me?” 

Mycroft nibbles on the edge of a HobNob thoughtfully before shrugging.

“You left him waiting in the dark believing he had lost someone he loved. Not everyone can forgive as easily as Mrs Hudson.”

“I apologised! I explained to him why it was vital that I did what I did! Why are is he being deliberately obtuse?” Sherlock snaps.

“Because he loves you and you hurt him. It takes time, Sherlock. Imagine if John disappeared and never told you where he’d gone?”

Sherlock doesn’t say that he doesn’t need to imagine it because John has disappeared. John has vanished out of Sherlock’s life without any explanation and it hurts Sherlock more than he ever thought imaginable. He puts down his violin and gives Mycroft an annoyed look.

“John should understand. He should move on and understand.”

Mycroft raises an eyebrow and smiles sadly.

“I think he has moved on, don’t you?”

 

…

 

Dinner?  
SH.

Sure. Tonight?  
JW.

8:30. Angelos.  
SH

Perfect. See you then.  
JW.

 

…

 

Sherlock half suspected that he would bring Mary but it still hurts no less when he sees them coming, hand in hand.

“Who is this woman?” Angelo demands. “A client?”

“John’s fiancé.” 

Angelo looks personally affronted.

“John’s fiancé? But you two-”

“Were never together. Not like that.” Sherlock mutters.

Angelo makes a spectacle of getting another chair for Mary, saying he only expected two. John shoots Sherlock an angry look so Sherlock stands and offers Mary his own chair.

“No, that’s your chair by the window.” Mary says with a smile. “I’ve read the blogs and that’s where you always sit.”

Sherlock glances at John, who’s expression seemed to have softened somewhat as he offered Sherlock the ghost of a smile.

“She’s right. That’s your seat.” He says with a chuckle.

Sherlock slowly sits as Angelo pulls up another chair and hands them all menus. Mary smiles at Sherlock again and places her hand over his.

“How are you? We haven’t seen you in a while.”

There’s concern in her voice and concern in his eyes. Sherlock takes a steadying sip of his red wine and offers them both a warm smile, one that he has practiced many times before.

“I’m…adjusting.” He answers truthfully. “It’s strange to be without any cases and without my blogger.”

John presses his lips together and avoids his gaze as Mary laughs.

“Well, I can’t help you when it comes to your cases but you don’t actually have to go without your blogger, Sherlock. He’s right there, just waiting for you to ask him.” She says lightly.

John shoots Mary a dark look as Sherlock stares intently at his menu. Mary huffs impatiently and takes a large gulp of red wine.

“You two are impossible.”

 

…

 

“Be my best man?” John blurts out towards the end of the meal.

Sherlock looks up from his now cold fettuccine and blinks at John owlishly.

“Your…”

“Best man, Sherlock. At my wedding. In two months time.” John says with a smile that reminds Sherlock of Before. 

Mary looks between them delightedly but the smile soon fades from her face as Sherlock continues to look at John blankly. Johns own smile is long gone as he raises both his eyebrows and nods.

“It’s fine. Forget it.” John snaps, throwing his napkin on the table and making his way to the bathroom.

Sherlock frowns after him, his mind still processing what had been asked of him. Mary clears her throat and looks at Sherlock expectantly.

“His best man? That would mean that I am his best friend, would it not?” Sherlock finally says.

Mary laughs softly and looks at him in amazement.

“Yes, Sherlock. It would.”

John returns, still scowling and Sherlock nods.

“I would be honoured to be your best-”

“Forget it, Sherlock. The moment’s passed.” John cuts across, draining what was left of his wine.

Sherlock feels the tips of his ears burn as Mary chides John quietly. 

He rises from the table silently, pays the bill and walks home, unable to shake the feeling that despite everything, Moriarty still won; he still lost John.

 

…

 

You’ve been cleared. Access all areas. Free for a case?  
GL.

Sherlock stares at the screen of his phone blearily before turning the damned thing off altogether and rolling back into his bed.

 

…

 

“Sherlock? Sherlock, wake up.”

Sherlock slowly opens his eyes to see John looking down at him, a deep frown wrinkling his weather-beaten forehead.

“You realize you haven’t stopped frowning since I came back.” Sherlock sighs.

“You’ve given me a lot to frown about.” John says with a quirk of a smile.

“Why are you here?” Sherlock demands as he sits up, his head spinning.

“Greg called me and said you refused a case.” John says with a shrug, settling himself on the end of the sofa.

Sherlock burrows his feet beneath John liked he used to Before. John doesn’t seem to notice. He continues to watch Sherlock expectantly, waiting for some sort of explanation.

“I got drunk.” Sherlock finally says.

John smiles again.

“I can see that. Or rather, smell it.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes and eyes John sadly. 

“I haven’t seen you smile since you came back, mate.” John whispers.

“You haven’t given me much to smile about.” Sherlock breathes.

John exhales loudly and runs his hands through his hair.

“I haven’t, have I? Look, I know that I’ve been a bit of a prat and that I haven’t made much time for you lately and I’m sorry. I dreamt about you coming back from the dead but in reality it was nearly too much for me to handle.” John admits awkwardly. “And now, I want you to realize that just because I’m with Mary doesn’t mean that I don’t need my best friend. Because I do. I’m going absolutely mental with boredom and I need my consulting detective back.”

Sherlock tries not to look too pleased with himself as he nods.

“Does this mean that I can be your best man?”

“If you’ll still take the job.” John laughs.

“It would be an honour.”

 

…

 

Things almost seem like Before. 

Sherlock and John solve crimes.

Sherlock and John annoy Mycroft.

Sherlock and John go for dinner.

Sherlock and John joke around in Scotland Yard.

But then Sherlock watches as John marries and he knows that things will never be as Before.

 

…

 

Sherlock gets horribly drunk at the wedding.

He doesn’t know why John gets so angry.

He’s being ‘normal’. 

But John drags him away and people stare and Sherlock cannot help but wonder if this would have happened on their own wedding day. He doubts it. If he were the one marrying John then he would have no reason to want to drown himself in alcohol to dull the ache.

“Jesus, Sherlock, you just…you just couldn’t do it, could you?” John hisses as he marches Sherlock through the hotel.

“For Gods sake, John, you’re over-reacting.” Sherlock slurs, trying and failing miserably to push John away.

“I’m over-reacting?” John demands loudly. “Sherlock, you told my family and friends that you’re giving our marriage a year tops!”

“Our marriage?” Sherlock repeats, confused.

“Me and Mary’s!” John snaps.

“Oh.”

And Sherlock supposes that he must have looked truly heartbroken because John suddenly stopped in his tracks and looked at Sherlock with eyes that appeared to be really seeing him.

“Oh.” John breathes, his blue eyes narrowing.

Sherlock is drunk but he is not so drunk that he cannot tell what is coming next.

“Let me go, John.” Sherlock demands, shrugging away from John’s grip.

John does and takes a step back, a faint blush on his cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I never thought-”

“I’m a drunk and you’re an idiot. There’s nothing to think.” Sherlock snaps before taking wobbly steps away from him.

“Sherlock.” 

John reaches out and grabs his arm.

“C’mon, mate. You can stay in our room and sleep this off.”

“I’m not in love with you.” Sherlock insists drunkenly.

“Ok.” John soothes. “It’s ok.”

 

…

 

Sherlock awakes the next morning with the worst hangover imaginable and covered in confetti and rose-petals. 

“You’re alive!” Mary cheers just a little too loudly.

Sherlock blinks at her and sits up slowly in the plush king-sized bed, his head pounding and spinning.

“What happened?”

“You drank enough free champagne and wine for half the wedding party, started a few fights on the dance-floor, placed bets on how long our marriage would last and then you passed out here.” Mary announces cheerfully.

“Where’s John?” Sherlock asks.

“Having a shower before lunch. You might want to do the same; you stink.”

 

…

 

Sherlock skips lunch and goes home, not wanting to see them off on their honeymoon.


End file.
